Forty Miles from the Sun
by Wynn
Summary: Veronica & Logan go search for a missing Duncan. Discoveries of the self and soul variety happen along the way. A five part AU postWeapons fic. Finished 12.19.05
1. The New Age Thelma and Louise

Title: Forty Miles from the Sun

Author: Wynn

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Veronica Mars_. They are owned by Rob Thomas, UPN, Warner Brothers, etc. and are used for non-profit, entertainment purposes only.

AN: This fic occurs after _Weapons of Class Destruction_, delving off into an AU, so any similarities between this and the last four episodes of season one are purely coincidental.

Many, many thanks to Arabian and Mia for lovely betaing. Their thoughts proved invaluable and without their feedback this fic would not rock half as much as it does.

Chapter One: The New Age Thelma and Louise

By: Wynn

"So, Thelma, where are we going?"

Logan. Wonderful. As if this little adventure wasn't going to be difficult enough for Veronica. She peered around the open trunk lid and spotted Logan standing at the front of her car, his hands in his jacket pockets, a small smile on his face. She shoved her overnight bag into the Le Baron's trunk and slammed the lid shut.

"We? Nowhere. Me? Away."

"So I gathered. Does this particular trip have a destination in mind or are you _On the Road_-ing it like a modern day Moriarty?"

"Nothing quite so beatnik, I'm afraid. I'm just staying with a friend for a few days while my dad's out of town."

Logan made a non-committal noise. He watched her toss her shoulder bag into the back seat, watched her move to the driver's side door. Veronica popped open the door and propped her foot on the floorboard. Then she looked at Logan, looked at her car, looked back at him, and waited for him to move.

He didn't move. Of course.

He rocked back on his heels and watched her watch him. His small smile widened into the typical cocky Echolls grin, and she suspected some of the frustration she felt could be detected on her face. Veronica resisted the urge to sigh. She also resisted the urge to commit some vehicular homicide while she was at it and chose to smile sweetly at him instead. Or her version of sweet anyway. "Can I help you with something?"

Logan smiled back at her, setting off every detective instinct she had. "Yeah. Yeah, actually you can." He finally moved, crossing the front of the car to stand opposite her next to the driver's side door. "You can answer something for me. Why would someone who's going to stay with a friend for a few days need road maps of Mexico?" His eyes flickered over to the passenger seat to the aforementioned road maps Veronica tossed in there the night before.

Damn convertibles with their damn openness.

"Hmm, that _is_ a tough one," Veronica said. "But maybe the answer is her dad's a private investigator who occasionally needs to travel down to Mexico on business. And thus would need maps."

"Or maybe it's because she's not really staying with a friend at all. Maybe it's because she's going down to Mexico to find her missing ex-boyfriend."

Veronica crossed her arms over her chest and switched to plan B: defensive mode. "What makes you think I'm trying to find Duncan? Better yet, after the twelve rounds we had three days ago, what makes you think I'd even _want _to find Duncan?"

"Because you're Veronica Mars and that's what you do."

"Nice try, A for effort, but I'm afraid you're incorrect. Now, I'm late-"

"Cut the crap, Veronica. You're not late, and you're not going to stay with a friend. You're going to Mexico to find Duncan because that's what you do. Because you have a dozen files on your computer about the Lilly case and we both know that the contents of one of them spooked Duncan into running. So stop trying to blow me off. You're not the only one who cares."

Veronica debated telling Logan another lie, that she wasn't going to Mexico in search of Duncan, that she really was going to stay with a friend for a few days. But the look on his face made her decide against that. If she pissed him off by lying to him again, he could tell Mr. and Mrs. Kane about her search for Duncan, and Veronica knew thatwouldn't end well. That wouldn't end well at all. So she said, "All right. Fine. I amgoing after Duncan. But you can't tell anyone."

"I won't."

"I'm serious, Logan. The more people that know where I'm going, the more likely it is I'll be followed, and the more likely it is that Duncan will find out about this little rescue mission and run again."

Logan held up his hands. "I won't tell anyone. I swear."

"Good." A beat passed and then Veronica said, "Thank you," and she wasn't avoiding looking at Logan. She wasn't. He just had the sun behind him that forced Veronica to look away.

They stood like that for a minute, Veronica avidly not looking at Logan, Logan just as avidly looking at her, and then Veronica said, "Well, I guess I should be going."

And that's when he touched her. His hand fell onto her arm and she paused, mid-perch, half-in and half-out of her car. "Not so fast, sunshine. I'm coming with you."

Veronica forgot about the hand and the awkwardness and the kiss she'd already told herself she'd forgotten about as his words penetrated her brain. Her eyes flew up to his face as she said, "You're _what_?"

"Coming with you."

"No. You're not."

"Yes. I am."

"I don't think so, _sunshine_."

"I do think so. I'm as much to blame for Duncan leaving as you are, so I'm going with you to get him back. You can't stop me."

"Yes, I can."

"Short of running me over with your car, I doubt it."

Veronica reached into her coat pocket and removed her taser. She held it up for him to see and pressed the activation button. Blue-white electricity crackled between the twin prongs, and Veronica smiled as his eyes took in the show. "Oh, I don't know," she said, "I'm sure if I pray real hard and eat all my vegetables, God will show me a way."

Logan looked at her then at the taser. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. He said, "You wouldn't."

She said, "Try me."

He drew in a deep breath and looked to be on the verge of leaving when his face suddenly cleared and he shot Veronica a cat-ate-the-canary grin. "You know what, Veronica? You're right. The less people that know about your little rescue mission, the better. I mean, three people already know and that's two people too many, isn't it? Me. You. Your dad…" He let that hang in the air for a few moments, all the while studying Veronica's face. His grin widened and he continued. "Now, I know what you're asking yourself. 'How would Logan know that I told my dad about his only darling daughter traipsing off to Mexico all by herself?' And you know what the answer is? It's because I know Veronica Mars. I know she's not the type to lie to her old man. She's the responsible type. The-"

Veronica closed her eyes and sighed. "Get in."

"Hmm? What was that? Did my little ears deceive me or was that an invitation to accompany you?"

"Logan, get in the car before I use this to drop you like the bad habit you are."

"Temper, temper, Ms. Mars. Keep talking like that and I'll start to think you don't like me very much."

"At least you'll be thinking. And that is a start."

…………

One hour, ten minutes, and twenty-three seconds later, they were off to a _rollicking _start, Veronica thought. Stuck in a traffic jam thirty miles outside San Diego for the past twenty-five minutes, biding their time with long silences that gave new meaning to the word 'uncomfortable' and lame attempts on Logan's part to actually start a conversation. Which, on a normal day, would give Veronica cause for alarm because she and Logan never had conversations. They traded insults, information, and little else. Barring, of course, already forgotten about kisses at the Camelot Motel. But today, when their mission was to rescue her ex-boyfriend/his best friend/the possible murderer of her dead best friend/his ex-girlfriend/said possible murderer's sister, normal conversation was all but out of the question.

"What the hell is this crap?"

Yet Logan kept trying anyway.

Veronica sighed and said, "Franz Ferdinand."

"As in the guy who's death started World War One?"

"Yes. As in that."

"What, was the Hitler Revue already taken?"

"Hitler was World War Two." Veronica gave herself props for notadding a heartfelt 'dumb ass' to the end of that sentence. She rubbed a hand over her forehead in a vain attempt to massage her headache away, but it stayed firmly where it was, smirking at her from behind her eyeballs. She suspected the headache's smirk closely resembled that of the person next to her.

"Thank you, Professor Mars, for that exciting lesson." Logan started flipping through her CD case again, occasionally giving a derisive snort to some evidently offensive music selection. He reached the back cover in less that thirty seconds then tossed the case onto the floor next to his feet. "God, my sixty year old grandmother has better taste in music than you do."

"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to stock up on White Snake's greatest hits, but, as I said, I thought this would be a solo trip."

"And if I'd known all you had to listen to was this emo crap and some angry girl music, this _would_ have been a solo trip."

"The door's not locked. The car's not moving. You're free to hop out at any time."

Logan smirked at her. "And miss the chance to annoy you? It would take a far stronger man than I to pass up such a prime opportunity."

"You annoy me every day. You'll have another chance tomorrow. I promise."

"Not if you decide to ignore me like you have for the past three days."

Veronica stilled. She peeked at him from the corners of her eyes. He had one arm propped on the windowsill, one foot on his seat, and half his body turned toward her. She could almost see his eyes beneath the dark lenses of his sunglasses. Almost. If she looked hard enough. What she could see clearly though was the patented Echolls smirk on his face, and the sight of it made her blood boil. The sight of him made her blood boil. "And here I thought the vapid devotion of your equally vapid minions would keep your attention whoring ways satisfied. I guess I was wrong."

Logan didn't say anything. He watched her a beat longer, then shook his head and turned to look out the window. The last strains of _Take Me Out _died on the Le Baron's speakers and another uncomfortable silence descended on them like wool, thick irritating. Probably for the best, Veronica decided. They both needed a reminder that they weren't bosom buddies out on some weekend joy ride, and if she had to be the one to do it, so be it.

Still. She switched over to the radio as the traffic jam inched forward. Just because she had the headache from hell didn't mean he had to have one, too.

…………

Forty minutes later and half a second after rolling to a stop, Logan had the door open and was out of the car. Veronica watched him head for the gas station, his strides long and fast but unhurried. She doubted he'd ever hurried in his life. Except, maybe, that one time, but Veronica wasn't thinking about that one time. Her gaze followed Logan into the store, and she tried her best to clear her mind and focus on the issue at hand.

Over a hundred miles to go and a cranky, possibly homicidal ex-boyfriend at the end. Thinking about Logan wouldn't help either of those matters go by any smoother. Or faster.

Veronica eased out of her car. She lifted her arms to stretch out the kinks in her neck and back. Reaching for the gas nozzle, she selected regular, stuck the spout into her car, and waited for the numbers to start ticking away. Then she leaned back into her car to grab one of her maps. She didn't need to look at the map again; she knew her route by heart, carefully memorizing it as she had carefully tracked Duncan the past few days. But she retraced the route anyway just to be sure. She didn't need anything else to go wrong on this trip, especially not anything related to getting lost in Mexico with Logan Echolls.

Her cell phone chirped as her fingertip crossed the tiny black border. Tossing the map back in the car, Veronica unearthed her phone from her pocket and said, "I'm not there yet, Wallace, so don't even ask."

"I didn't call to see if you were," Wallace said. "But if you really want me to say it, I can."

"That's all right. I've already had more than my fair share of annoying chatter on this trip as it is."

"Have you been talking to yourself again? Because I know we talked about how creepy that is."

"No, I haven't been talking to myself again. I haven't been talking to anyone. Someone's been talking to me." At least he had been. Before. Veronica drew in a deep breath and said, "I kind of picked up a stray for this fantastic voyage."

"From the sound of your voice, I'm guessing that isn't a good thing."

"Not unless you consider being locked in a car with Logan Echolls for four hours a good thing."

"Only if he's bound and gagged in the trunk. Which I'm guessing he's not."

"No, he's not. Although I bet that's where he wishes I was right now."

"Say what?"

"Nothing. My mouth just got me into trouble again, that's all."

Wallace chuckled. "You seem to be making a habit of that lately."

"I thought we decided never to speak of that incident again."

"No. _You _decided. I did no such thing. Seeing the expression on your face every time I mention Echolls, kiss, or Camelot is just too priceless to pass up."

"I bet you'd love to see my expression now. Want me to take a picture and send it to you?"

He laughed again and said, "I'll pass. So how'd you get stuck with Echolls anyway? 'Cause if you were that desperate for company, I would have gone with you."

Veronica glanced over her shoulder. She could see Logan in the station, randomly pulling junk food off the shelves and shoving it into a basket. "He sort of blackmailed his way into the car. Threatened to call my dad and tell him what I was doing."

"Damn. He went straight for the jugular, didn't he? That must have been one damn fine kiss."

Veronica rolled her eyes as she turned back toward the pump. "He's not here because of me. Duncan's his friend."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Is there any particular reason why you called? Or were you just bored?"

"No. Your dad just called my mom, and I heard him tell her that he's going to try to make it back early. Like Sunday morning early. He wanted to surprise you, so he said he wasn't going to tell you about the change of plans."

More like he wanted to try to catch her doing exactly what she was doing now. Damn it. She'd been counting on that extra day in case something went wrong, in case Duncan moved on before she got to him or some other disaster happened along the way. And with Logan along for the ride something was bound to go wrong. It was only a matter of when. And where.

"Veronica? You still there?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the head's up, Wallace."

"No problem. I'll call again if anything else changes."

"Okay." The pump stopped and Veronica replaced the nozzle. She reached for her gas cap, nearly dropping at the screech of brakes locking before her. She looked up and found Logan facing down a black sedan. He raised an eyebrow at the front bumper, mere inches from his kneecaps, then continued his trek to her car, ambling away from the near collision with all the grace and superiority he could muster.

Which, of course, was a whole hell of a lot considering his hands were full of all the junk food money could buy.

"Veronica?"

"Got to go," she said to Wallace. "Talk to you later."

"All right. Good luck."

"Thanks." She hung up and stuffed the phone back into her pocket as Logan reached the car. He dumped the junk food into her rapidly filling backseat and then jumped into her car. Literally. Jumped over the unlocked door and into his seat.

"You know the door handles are there for a reason."

"Don't be such a prude. I didn't hurt your precious baby. Now get in."

"Hold on there, Trigger. I must pay for the gas before we can leave the ranch."

Logan shifted in his seat, reaching back for a bottle of Mountain Dew. "I got it. Get in." He twisted off the cap and took a long swig. Veronica didn't move. She continued to stare, one eyebrow arched in something. Disgust? Defiance? Desire? She honestly wasn't sure and that unsettled her more than the sight of that radioactive sludge making its way down Logan's throat.

Logan finally looked at her and said, "Christ, Veronica, get in the damn car before I leave your stubborn ass here. I'll let you pay for the next fill-up. Cross my heart and hope to die." At that, a diamond smile, hard and bright, appeared on his face, and Veronica finally got into the damn car.

…………

"So…" she said another excruciatingly slow half-hour later. She peered at Logan from the corners of her eyes and thought that his mouth twitching might signify him listening to her. "You don't like emo crap. You don't like angry girl music. You have absolutely no love for White Snake. What kind of music does Logan Echolls listen to?"

"So now you want to talk to me. After I've bought you food."

"Fastest way to a girl's heart." Logan cocked a brow at that and Veronica mentally slapped herself upside the head. Sometimes her mouth moved entirely too fast for her brain. She batted her eyelashes at him. "So one more Snickers bar and I'm yours, baby," she said, praying he wouldn't push the unfortunate slip of the tongue- either of them- any further.

He didn't. Unless Veronica counted the grin that blossomed across his face as pushing. Which she did. "All out of Snickers, honeybunch, but I think there's some blow-pops in the backseat."

"Wow. Again with the thinking. Is twice in one day some kind of personal record for you?"

"What can I say, Mars? You bring out the intellectual in me."

"Oh, so that was your intellectual side that smashed in my headlights? And here I thought it was your angry one."

Logan shot her a look from over the top of his sunglasses. "You put a cock bong in my locker and nearly got me suspended. I had just cause to be a little angry."

"A little angry? You threatened me with a _crowbar_."

"I did not threaten you with a crowbar. I threatened your car. There's a difference."

"Yeah, a four hundred dollar difference."

"What do you want me to do, Veronica? Say I'm sorry? You started it. Not me."

She hadn't started it. He had. Three months after Lilly died. But she wasn't going to unearth that particular can of worms. Not right now. Not ever. So she focused on the road ahead of her and tried to ignore the silence pressing in on her. Tried to ignore the tension in her body and the tension in her mind. Tried to ignore him.

One mile flew by. Then another. Logan's potato chip bag crinkled and he reached back for another Mountain Dew. Veronica straightened in her seat and watched the painted lines streak by in a yellow blur.

Then he cleared his throat and said, "I like the Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix, and Johnny Cash. The Beastie Boys back when they were cool, Tupac back when he was alive, and Rage Against the Machine back before they became whatever the hell they are now."

He drifted off and the silence returned, but different this time. It was thinner, softer, like brushed cotton. Veronica went over his list again and the beginnings of a smile formed on her face. "So, what you're saying is, you like angry _boy_ music?"

Logan's eyes caught and held her own. A beat passed and then that grin of his appeared, the same one he flashed her back before this journey to the end of the world began. "What can I say? I'm an angry boy."

And the laugh bubbled out of Veronica before she could stop it. It hung in the air, snowflake bright. She could feel Logan's gaze on her and wondered what he saw, if she felt as different to him as she did to herself. Veronica peered into the rearview mirror, but the sight of her own reflection failed to capture her attention.

The black sedan behind them did.

Her breath caught in her throat, cutting off her bubble of laughter. She had ditched the 5 shortly after stopping for gas, taking a toll bridge to Highway 75 hoping to avoid some of the mid-afternoon traffic. It was possible the sedan was doing the same, possible it had some other destination in mind besides hers. Possible it was just enjoying the enjoyable scenery.

Possible but not probable. The sedan followed her far enough back so as to not attract attention but close enough to keep her well within sight. Veronica eased down on the accelerator. Her car picked up speed, five mph, ten, and the sedan fell farther back behind them. Maybe it wasn't what she feared it to be. Maybe she-

The sedan sped up, too.

Had Weidman picked up something on that damn bug of his? She'd been careful not to say anything about her plan to find Duncan in the house. She'd told Wallace about it at his house yesterday afternoon. She'd made a fake phone call to Mac confirming her plans to stay the night with her in clear earshot of the bug. She wracked her brain to see if she let anything incriminating slip, but she couldn't think of anything. Had her dad said something to tip Weidman off? Or did Jake Kane have someone following her all the time now?

"Veronica?"

Her computer had been acting up the last few days. Maybe they'd found some way to crack her firewalls and tracked her tracking Duncan? But if they had, wouldn't they be where he was now and not following her? And wouldn't Mac have found some trace of their presence if they had broken through?

"Veronica?"

The only other person who knew about her search for Duncan was Logan. And he only found out a few hours ago… next to her car. It would make sense. Bugging her car along with her bedroom. Her and her dad had checked the office for listening devices as well as the rest of their apartment, but she hadn't gone through her car.

"_Veronica_!"

Logan's shout startled Veronica from her thoughts. She turned to find him watching her, his sunglasses perched on the top of his head, eyebrows drawn together in something resembling concern.

"Sorry." She brought forth her best reassuring smile and said, "The Johnny Cash name drop kind of froze my brain. I never pictured you as the rhinestone cowboy type."

He didn't say anything. Just looked at her. She held his gaze and put on her best innocently puzzled expression. "What? Did the rhinestone connection offend you?"

A moment more of silence and then Logan shrugged. "Not me. I'm offended for Johnny. Johnny was no rhinestone cowboy." Logan flipped his sunglasses back down and continued his defense of Johnny Cash. Veronica looked back at the sedan again. She hoped she was wrong, hoped that the dread in her stomach was there for no reason, that the sedan was just an anonymous sedan and not Weidman in disguise.

She hoped, but she doubted it.

…………

One thankfully uneventful border crossing and then they were in Tijuana, Shangri La for underage American teenagers everywhere. Veronica spotted the sedan a little more than half a mile back, stuck in the wrong lane, the inevitable one that crawled along slower than a snail on Christmas. At least ten minutes behind Veronica, give or take. Ten minutes before her stalker crossed the border and could continue following her. Ten minutes in which Veronica would be out of sight and could search her car for the probable bug and tracking device. If she hurried, if she somehow got Logan to not think she was a total paranoid nutcase and help her, she might be able to swing it. In any case, this would probably be her only shot of ditching the sedan, so she pulled off the main highway and into the first available parking lot. The Hotel Palacio Azteca. The lot was half-full. She searched for a space in the back, out of sight of the main road, finding the perfect one between two minivans.

Logan peered back at the hotel, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Duncan's here? The Pal-"

"No. He's not. I'm, ah, just not feeling very well. Too much sun and junk food, I guess. I just need to pop in and use the restroom. No big." Veronica opened her door and dropped down onto the ground. She peered under her car, searching for the tracking device, cursing herself for not having a flashlight within reach.

"Veronica? What-?"

"I'm okay. Really. Just need to get to a bathroom."

Nothing. Damn. Where was it? She didn't want to waste time by digging through her trunk for a flashlight, but she couldn't see. Couldn't-

"So why-?"

Veronica held up a hand, signaling for Logan to shut up, and somehow, miraculously, he did. Come on, come on, _there_. She slithered under her car and pried off the flat black tracking device attached to the Le Baron's undercarriage. Then she eased back out and up and found herself nose-to-nose with Logan. A very confused and irritated Logan. He opened his mouth to speak, but she covered it with her hand and shook her head. Then she stood and said, "I'll be right back. Don't touch anything."

He scowled at her. She beckoned for him to follow her, and when he didn't, she grabbed his hand and yanked him from the car, reaching up to cover his mouth again as he swore at her. She dragged them both away from the car, stopping after a couple hundred feet and hoping it was far enough.

"Okay, listen," she said as she turned toward him. "We don't have much time, and I need you to listen to me without interrupting." She didn't wait for him to answer her. Just held up the tracking device and continued. "This is a tracking device. It was stuck to the bottom of my car. Someone's been following us since San Diego, probably since Neptune, hoping we'll lead them to Duncan. I think my car's been bugged, too, and that's how they knew we were going after Duncan and not just on some weekend joy ride. Now, I only have a couple minutes to search my car for the bug before whoever's following us gets here, and I need you to help me."

"Veronica, what the hell-?"

"I'll explain everything later, but for now just shut up and help me."

She spun around and took off for her car. Once there, she switched on the radio, turning the volume up to Logan loud, and started her search, shoving her hand beneath her seat. She felt along all the edges and crevices, pressed up against the bottom of the seat, swept her hand across the stiff grey carpet of her floorboard.

The passenger door opened and Logan appeared. He stared at Veronica a moment, shook his head, then stuck his hand under his own seat. Veronica moved to the back, searching under the crumpled plastic wrappers and empty soda bottles. She tore through her shoulder bag, inspecting all the pens and pencils for plants, running her hands over the lining for suspicious bumps or ridges.

She felt a hand on her arm and looked up. Logan held her Pirates parking pass, the one that hung from her rearview mirror every single day. Attached to the back was a small listening device, identical to the one Clarence Weidman hid in her room a few weeks ago.

Sometimes Veronica truly hated being right.

…………


	2. Ned and Nancy Drew

Title: Forty Miles from the Sun

Author: Wynn

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Veronica Mars_. They are owned by Rob Thomas, UPN, Warner Brothers, etc. and are used for non-profit, entertainment purposes only.

AN: Thanks to everyone who left feedback for the first chapter! I didn't have time this week to respond back to everyone, but I did read all the lovely posts and very much appreciated them. Again, many thanks go out to Arabian and Mia for supreme betaing.

Chapter Two: Ned and Nancy Drew

By: Wynn

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"I wish I was," Veronica said, leaning back in her chair. "But I'm not."

Under the pretense of getting some real food into Veronica's unsettled stomach, she and Logan had gone to one of Tijuana's many restaurants so she could answer all of his questions. His five million questions. Not that Veronica blamed him for his confusion. She often found herself feeling like one of the Lone Gunman as she poured through her Lilly notes, uncovering conspiracy after conspiracy, cover-up after cover-up. It was enough to drive Fox Mulder mad, so she didn't expect Logan to understand it all right away. Still, she wished he would make the transition from confusion to acceptance a little bit faster. They had other things to worry about.

Other Weidman things.

Oh, yes, Veronica had spotted Weidman as she and Logan entered the restaurant, hidden partially by the growing afternoon crowd but unmistakable in that ridiculous Bogartian outfit of his. She counted on the hope that the Kanes would want such a delicate matter as the murder of their daughter and the disappearance of their possibly murdering son to be handled by Weidman alone and that he wasn't working in tandem with anyone else. She didn't have time to search for any other possible stalkers.

"All right. So the head of Kane security planted a bug in your room and used it to follow you to your mom, who was driven out of town by Mrs. Kane because Mrs. Kane thought your mom could destroy her and Mr. Kane's alibis."

Veronica nodded.

"And you think this Weidman guy planted another bug in your car and used that to follow us, hoping we'll lead him to Duncan, so he can get to Duncan before Duncan spills whatever it is he's remembered about Lilly's murder."

"Yes."

"Which, according to that traffic ticket you found, actually happened hours before everyone thinks it did, meaning that everyone except for you, me, and the fucking guy the state convicted for the murder could have done it."

"That's about the gist of it."

Logan popped a french fry into his mouth and slouched down in his chair. His gaze swept across the restaurant, and Veronica wondered if he was searching for Weidman. Maybe he was just looking for the nearest exit stage left sign so he could get the hell away from her and her crazy theories. But he didn't move. His gaze settled back on Veronica and he let out a deep breath. "You realize how fucking paranoid this is. Conspiracies and cover-ups and pay-offs."

"I know it sounds crazy."

"Crazy? Christ, Veronica, you think Duncan killed Lilly."

"It's not like I want to believe it," she said, preparing herself for the inevitable onslaught of righteous indignation. The big, bad Mars family once again targeting the poor, defenseless Kanes.

"You sure as hell haven't done anything in your little investigation to disprove it."

"I can't ignore the evidence, Logan! Someone paid Abel Koontz off in Kane stock so he would confess. Someone altered Lilly's official time of death to hours before it actually happened, to a time when Duncan had an airtight alibi. My dad found Duncan's soccer uniform in the dryer when he was questioning the Kanes that night, and if you think sitting down to do a load of laundry immediately after finding the dead body of your daughter is normal, then you're more disturbed than I thought."

Logan closed his eyes and ran a hand across the back of his head. He looked like she felt, sickened by what he thought but unable to let himself not think it. He mashed a fry into his plate, ground it down into the cream-colored china with fierce, fast swipes. His eyes, dark and troubled, found hers. "It's Duncan."

"I know."

"He wouldn't do this. He loved Lilly."

"Just like he loved his dad?"

Logan shook his head. "No. Not like that. Duncan loved Lilly like we did. Even if he was in some sort of seizure, he wouldn't forget that. He couldn't. There has to be some other explanation."

"Which is why we need to get to Duncan. To find out what he remembers."

Logan looked away. He shook his head again, his mouth twisted into a dark, rueful smile, and Veronica lied and told herself she wasn't panicking. What if she had misjudged him? What if he planned to tell the Kanes everything she just told him like he'd told Duncan about her files? What if Logan's opinion of her hadn't really changed at all and she let her emotions sway herself into believing, let _his_ emotions sway her into believing that it had?

Logan tapped his hand against the table in a short staccato rhythm. His eyes cut over to her. Another beat of silence passed and then he leaned forward and said, "All right, Nancy Drew. I don't know about all this conspiracy crap, but I want to find Duncan. Before anyone else does. And I know you already have a plan for ditching this Weidman prick and finding him."

Veronica let out the breath she hadn't been holding and smiled. "Of course I do. Now, pay attention, Ned, because this plan of mine rests solely on your leather clad shoulders."

…………

They left the restaurant twenty minutes later. Veronica went left. Logan went right. And the official 'Ditch this Weidman Prick' plan went into action.

Veronica walked fast, like she had a destination in mind and little time to lose in getting there. She forced herself not to search the crowd for Weidman. She'd know soon enough whether he took the bait.

The crowd grew as Veronica approached the Avenida Revolucion. The strip of stores and booths stretching from the border to the center of Tijuana was packed full of tourists and locals alike, both enjoying a bit of bargain shopping on the warm spring day. Veronica slipped into the crowd, eased herself into the ebb and flow of the bodies, acclimated to the rhythm of the dense shopper sea. She drew in a deep breath, blew it out, drew in another, deeper, slower, held it, then exhaled.

Time to find out how good a spy she really was.

Veronica started down the strip, matching the crowd stride for stride. She stepped around, ducked behind, slipped between the crush of patrons, increasing her pace slowly as she went. She danced a nimble two step down the lane, thankful once again for being as short and flat as God made her. Faster, then faster again, darting like a hummingbird, quicker than a bee. Sliding. Smoothly. Causing no disturbance in this tiny Mexican pond. Veronica squeezed ahead of a pack of burly high school football studs heading for a pack of even burlier bikers and drew in another deep breath.

One pack went left.

One went right.

Veronica went right.

She slipped around the bikers, hiding behind their leather clad bulk, and fell into step with a family of five. She slid between them and the edge of the Avenida. Peering through a gap between the father and eldest son, she scanned the crowd for Weidman and spotted him a couple hundred feet ahead of her. He searched the spot where she had just been; his eyes darted from the football jocks to the bikers then shifted to the surrounding area. Veronica ducked back into one of the Avenida's alleyways. She sprinted down the lane, hung a right, and doubled back up the strip, this time on the outside instead of the in. Her heart pounded fast in her chest, thumping like Thumper on speed; air burned its way into her lungs as she sucked it in, one quick breath after another.

The edge of the alley appeared and Veronica skidded to a stop. She skirted along the wall of the first shop and stopped at the corner. Peeking around the edge, she searched for Weidman. She found him more than halfway down the Avenida, making his way back up toward her. He walked fast, but not as fast as Veronica had, his gaze still sweeping the crowd trying to spot her.

Veronica turned away and made her way over to the 1-D highway. She dug her green hat out of her bag and put it on, shoving her hair up underneath. Then she took off her jacket and turned it inside out, slipping into the pink courduroy, watching the sun gleam off of the black and white pinstripe lining. As she slid a pair of sunglasses on her face, she glanced back at the strip. She didn't see Weidman; she hoped he hadn't seen her.

She started off down the road, digging around inside her bag for her camera. She pulled it out and stopped to take a few photographs of Tijuana and California, trying to look like a casual tourist out for a scenic stroll. Then she continued walking, snapping as she went, keeping her eyes open for Logan and for Weidman.

A black blur streaked past her and screeched to a stop. She jogged over to her car and jumped in, Logan taking off mere seconds after she swung the passenger door shut. She glanced at him as she fastened her seat belt and said, "Well?"

"Mission accomplished, Nancy. The tires are toast." Logan reached inside his jacket pocket, pulled out her pocket knife, and tossed it to her. "He's not going anywhere for a while."

"Excellent." Veronica shook off her jacket and pulled out an untraceable cell phone from her glove box. She dialed the number for the local police department, waited for the desk officer to pick up, and when he did, she said, "H-Hello. My n-name is Celeste Weidman. I'm staying at the Hotel Palacio Azteca and I-I just found my car vandalized in the parking lot. It's just, it's just awful." Veronica sniffed and gave the officer a description of Weidman's car, keeping her voice suitably distraught. "I-I don't want to leave the car in case the vandals come back and try to steal something, but I can't get a hold of my husband. His name's Clarence and he's at the Avenida. Do you think you could send an officer to go get him? I just, I don't know what to do and I- You will? Oh, thank you so much." She described Weidman to the officer, thanked him for everything again, and promised to wait right by the car until the other officers arrived. Then she hung up.

Veronica tossed the phone back into the glove box. She took off her hat and shook out her hair. She caught Logan staring at her mid-shake, but he looked away as she looked at him. He scratched the tip of his nose, rubbed a hand over his mouth. Then he cast another look in her direction and laughed.

"What?" she snapped.

"You're like a Tinkerbelle-sized Sydney Bristow. It's-" He broke off and shook his head. His laughter melted into a delighted smile, and Veronica felt some of her irritation slip away.

"It's what?"

Logan tapped one finger against the steering wheel. His gaze flickered from the road to her face. He cocked a brow and said, "Do you really want to know?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

"Yeah, but do you _really _want to know?"

There was a challenge in his eyes and temptation in his voice. She couldn't _not _know, not now, that would be like letting him win and Veronica couldn't do that. She couldn't ever do that. So she said, "Yes."

Logan beckoned her closer. She leaned in and didn't think about kissing him. He slipped her sunglasses off of her face, looked her straight in the eyes, and said, "It's without a doubt one of the sexiest things I have ever seen." He held her eyes and Veronica's heart stopped, started, kicked up a notch at the passion she saw there in the green and the gold.

His mouth curved up into a smile as he finally looked away, and Veronica could breathe again. Well. Now she knew. Now she definitely knew. She rolled her window down and let the cool breeze wash over her. Let the cool, cool breeze wash over her. How many miles did they have left to go? Whatever the number, Veronica knew it would be entirely too many. She slipped her sunglasses back on her face and attempted to focus. Thinking Logan thoughts right now wouldn't lead to magical journeys to second star on the right. They already had a decidedly less enchanting destination in store for them, so she tried to push all thoughts of Logan and his hazel eyes out of her mind.

Far, far out of her mind before he drove her out of her mind.

God, how she wished they were there yet.

…………

"Take the next left."

"Yes, drill sergeant."

Veronica rolled her eyes at his mock salute. "If you drop and give me twenty, I'll throw in a pretty please next time."

"Would that be with or without the sugar on top?"

They'd been on the road an hour, taking the 1-D further down into Baja. Veronica had kept one eye on the road behind them, but she hadn't spotted any suspicious cars following them since their bat out of hell blast out of Tijuana. Still, she watched. Just in case. There were already too many unpredictable variables in this foreign equation for her liking, and she didn't want Weidman springing any more on her and taking her by surprise. Watching helped her stay sharp, stay focused, and staying focused on anything other than Logan Echolls was of the good.

She threw him a sidelong glance. He radiated sin like sunlight, so bright it almost blinded her. He smiled at her, and in no way did she feel like a helpless little moth drawn to his flame of lustful gazes and dirty phrases.

"Or you could just tell me where we're going," he said, bringing her back from the more gutter-oriented places of her mind.

"Yeah, so you can ditch me next to some stretch of absolutely nowhere and take off after Duncan by yourself. I don't think so, Private."

"Okay, one," he said, shooting her a look from over his sunglasses, "if I planned on ditching you, I would have done it already. In Tijuana. After you gave me the keys to your car of your own free will. And two-"

"I had-"

"And_ two_, what would be so bad about me finding Duncan by myself? He's my best friend. I've known him longer than you have. And you _are _the reason he decided to go all Running Man on us in the first place." Logan paused and looked at her. His hand tapped against the steering wheel, indicating he had slipped into deep contemplation mode. Great. Nothing good ever came from that.

A minute of inspection and introspection passed and then he said, "Maybe it would be better if I talked to him first without you."

"Um, no."

"Why not?"

Veronica stayed silent. Nothing she could say would smooth Logan's rapidly ruffling feathers, so she chose to say nothing at all. She'd heard that method worked occasionally and prayed it would now.

"Veronica?"

Of course, Logan didn't subscribe to the old 'silence is golden' philosophy, so her refusal to answer him would probably piss him off as much as the answer itself would. Veronica flashed him a tight smile and said, "I just don't think it would be a good idea, all right? Can we drop this before we say something we'll regret later?"

"No."

"Way to take the mature approach, Logan."

"You're the one indulging in the silent treatment. That's not exactly the paragon of maturity, Mars."

"And getting in a fight over something stupid is?"

"Oh, so now I'm stupid."

Veronica sighed. "I didn't say that."

"No, but you did say you think it's a bad idea for me to talk to my best friend without you. What, you think I need supervision to hold a conversation?"

"Possibly. You're not exactly doing a bang up job of it now."

"Not for lack of trying, which is more than I can say for you."

"If talking to me is such a burden, maybe you should give it a rest."

"And let you off the hook? I don't think so. You can't say something like that and then try to brush it all under the rug. So what is it, Veronica, that bothers you so much? Is it the me talking to Duncan part, the me talking to him without you, or the me talking to him first that bothers you?"

"Right now, it's just the you part that's bothering me."

"Well, you-" Logan broke off as he caught sight of her face. Evidently her desire to say nothing at all didn't extend to non-verbal communication because something in her eyes clued Scooby onto the answer to this mystery of the week. "It is the me part. You don't trust me." He shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"Logan-"

"You don't trust me with my own best friend."

"It's not that-"

"Then what? What is it, Veronica? What is it about me that you-"

"I don't trust you with me, okay? You don't exactly have the greatest track record when it comes to loyalty. Especially to me."

Logan stared at her for a few beats, mouth open in shock. Then he said, "Is this about the file? Because what the hell was I supposed to do? You were investigating Duncan behind his back. He had a right to know that his ex-girlfriend, the fucking love of his life, suspected him of murder."

"And you had to be the one to tell him?"

"You sure as hell weren't."

"Because I knew something like this would happen! That he'd freak out and do something stupid and his parents would try to figure out why he did what he did, which would lead them straight back to me. Again. It's hard enough trying to find out the truth about Lilly's death without the people involved in cover up knowing my every move. And, yes, they were involved, Logan. They covered up Lilly's death, probably because of whatever Duncan remembers, and I am _not _going to let them get away with it. Lilly deserves better than to have her murderer go unpunished because something about her death wasn't to her parents' liking. So, no, Logan. I don't trust you. I don't trust anybody. Not with this. Not when practically everyone involved has something to hide and all the money in the world to hide it with."

An edgy silence followed her last heated words. Veronica crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head to stare out the window. Goddamn him. Why did he have to push and push and push all the time? Shouldn't he have learned by now not to push her, that he wouldn't like the consequences?

Logan laughed into the silence, but his laughed lacked any trace of humor. It was hollow, a nothingness tinged bitter from their latest knock down, drag out. "Veronica Mars, avenging angel. So what does that make me? Someone for you to use along the way to liberty and justice for all?"

Veronica sighed. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against he seat. "I don't know."

"You don't know."

"No. I know this may come to a shock to you, but Veronica Mars doesn't know everything. Especially not things that concern you."

"I thought I've made it pretty damn clear where I stand with you. Or have you forgotten what happened at the Camelot?"

She hadn't forgotten. She couldn't forget. As much as she tried to push the memories to the back of her mind, they stayed prominent, a permanent reminder that things had changed. He rescued her; she kissed him; he kissed her back. Stated like that, it all seemed so simple. But it wasn't. It was messy and complicated and new and different and made Veronica feel five million different things at once, and she didn't know how to deal with this new wrinkle in the patchwork of her Lilly-less life.

"No, I haven't forgotten, and yes, you've been very clear. You're _always_ clear. I know exactly how you feel about me at any given moment of any given day. That's not the problem."

Logan looked at her, exasperation clear on his face. "Then what is the problem? Veronica-"

"The problem is I don't know what you're going to feel five minutes from now. Sure, you like me now. We might even be friends again. But I thought we were friends before, and look how wrong I was about that."

"We _were _friends before. Until you-"

"Until I what, Logan? Stood by my father when nobody else would? When I had nobody else left?"

"You still had me, and you still had Lilly. You didn't have to turn your back on us. On her."

"I didn't turn my back on her! I have _never_ turned my back on her. What you never understood was that me standing by my father didn't mean I was betraying Lilly. If anything, I stood up for her, too, by believing my father was right about her death. And, look at this, he was. Jake Kane _is_ involved somehow."

"So, what, Veronica? You want me to apologize? Beg for your forgiveness? I didn't know the truth then-"

"And you still crucified me." The fight drained out of her, sudden, like quicksand. She felt tired, so very tired of constantly fighting. Fighting for the truth. Fighting against the lies. Fighting Weidman and Duncan and Logan and everyone else Neptune that wanted their shot at Veronica Mars. "I'm sorry, Logan, but I can't forget that just because things might be different between us. Because you've chosen to like me again. It doesn't work that way. _I _don't work that way."

"Then why did you kiss me if you're having such a hard time forgetting? If you hate me so goddamn much?"

"I don't hate you," she said, her voice soft and thin like paper.

"But you don't trust me."

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"No. Not can't." His words were thick with betrayal. "You won't. There's a difference. All the difference in the world."

He switched on the radio. Coldplay came on, singing of yellow stars and beautiful bones. He was right. There was a difference. She wouldn't trust him because she couldn't, couldn't let herself trust him, not with this, not with her, not with Lilly, not now. She wished there was another way, but she didn't have any other. She only had hers, for better or worse, and right now, Veronica was knee deep in the worse and sinking fast.

Suddenly confronting a possibly homicidal ex-boyfriend didn't sound so bad. It didn't sound so bad at all.

…………

San Quintin. The fishing capital of Baja Mexico, at least according to the online brochure Veronica looked through yesterday after she tracked Duncan here to this growing tourist town. Logan swung the Le Baron off Highway 1 and drove down a short gravel road to the Old Mill Motel, one of the many tiny lodges dotting the three bays in and around San Quintin. She inspected all of the cars in the Old Mill's parking lot, searching for the grey Taurus Duncan had rented three days before.

She didn't find it.

Veronica tried to convince herself that it didn't mean anything, that Duncan could be out to dinner and that's why she didn't see his car, that he might have ditched the Taurus somewhere along the way and arrived here by some other method. Still, dread pooled cold and heavy in her stomach, and she knew they were already too late, that Duncan had moved on sometime during the night.

Logan parked before the motel's main entrance and got out; he slammed his door shut so hard he rocked the car. Veronica let out a shaky breath and followed a few moments later; if they somehow survived the night without killing each other, it would be a miracle.

They entered the lobby, a clean, comfortable relic from the 1970s. Logan headed for the concierge desk, but Veronica cut him off at the pass, sliding in front of him and placing a hand on his chest. He glowered down at her and Veronica half expected him to growl at her and bare his teeth.

"What's the problem now, Ronnie? I can't even ask what room Duncan's staying in?"

"No, not when you look like you want to kill the nice lady behind the desk and anyone else unfortunate enough to get in your way. Just try to look a little less homicidal and let me do the talking, okay? Okay?"

Logan flashed a manic, saccharine smile her way, looking even more mass murderer than he already did. "How's that? Harmless enough for you?"

Veronica didn't say anything. She just turned and walked over to the concierge desk, summoning forth her best easygoing, nothing to worry about smile. The woman behind the desk, Sophia according to her name tag, looked up from her computer and said, "May I help you?"

"Yes. I'm looking for my brother, Andy Dufresne. He's supposed to be staying here, but he forgot to tell me which room he'd be in."

Sophia keyed Duncan's _Shawshank_ alias into her computer. She looked back up at Veronica and said, "I'm sorry. Your brother checked out this morning."

"Did he say where he was going?" Logan asked from beside her.

"I do not know. I only just started my shift. But Pedro, the day man who checked out Mr. Dufresne, will be back in tomorrow at 6. You could ask him then."

"But-"

"Thank you very much, Sophia, for all of your help," Veronica said, sending another winning smile her way. Then she grabbed hold of Logan's arm and pulled him away from the desk and out of the lobby. Logan wrenched his arm out of hers as they made their way back over to her car. He spun around and took off for the lobby again.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Logan flicked a hand over his shoulder as he said, "Away from you and that fucking car. I'm getting a room. Do whatever you want. I don't care." He disappeared into the motel, and Veronica sank down onto the hood of the Le Baron, tired, hungry, and frustrated beyond belief. Their best hope in finding Duncan lay with a guy named Pedro who wouldn't be in for ten more hours.

Wonderful.

It was going to one hell of a long night.

…………


	3. And Andy Makes Three

Title: Forty Miles from the Sun

Author: Wynn

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Veronica Mars_. They are owned by Rob Thomas, UPN, Warner Brothers, etc. and are used for non-profit, entertainment purposes only.

AN: Thank you numero uno: To Arabian and Mia for fantastic betaing. Thank you numero dos: To everyone who took the time to leave feedback for chapters one and two. I appreciate each and every piece and am so glad people are enjoying reading this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

Chapter Three: And Andy Makes Three

By: Wynn

Veronica crawled into bed and slid beneath the requisite velour blanket present in every hotel room in every country on the planet. She'd eaten a quick dinner of junk food salvaged from her car, taken a shower, and changed into the pajamas she brought with her in her overnight bag. Then she'd called Wallace. He had nothing new to report on the Dad Front, no further calls, no other changes to her dad's plans that he could tell her. What Wallace did have, however, were some rather colorful and vehement objections to her Mexican sleepover with Logan, but fifteen minutes of assurances from Veronica that they each had their own separate room, that her door was already locked and barricaded with a chair, and that she'd sleep with her taser firmly in hand convinced him not to call her dad, the CIA, and the Army National Guard to come save her from the hormonally deranged boy next door.

No further news from Wallace on what her dad knew meant it was up to Veronica to wheedle the information out of Keith Mars, he of the stone cold poker face and unflappable secret keeping. She wanted an idea of exactly how much trouble she'd be in upon her return to Neptune before she actually returned. Walking in blind to that trial by one jury was not an option.

Veronica reached for her phone punched in her dad's number. He answered on the first ring. "Hey, honey. How's Mexico?"

He knew. Of course he knew. Somehow, he always knew. And she'd been extra sneaky this time, too, keeping mum on all things related to Duncan or his disappearance around her dad. "Fine," she said. "How'd you know?"

"Call it a hunch."

"A hunch? It's kind of hard to have a hunch on nothing."

"Not if I figured that nothing meant you were plotting something and didn't want me to know about it. Which you were."

Curses. Foiled again. Or not, in this case, which was strange in and of itself. "If you knew I was plotting something," Veronica said, "why didn't I wake up to four flat tires this morning?"

Her dad laughed. "Like you'd let something as small as a couple of flat tires stop you. Or something as big as me."

"They would have delayed me for a while."

"Yeah, until you got the tires refilled, lined up a rental car, or roped some poor soul into chauffeuring you. So, what, all of thirty minutes? I thought it was better to let you just proceed on your merry way."

Her P.I. senses started to tingle. This was not how she imagined this conversation going. There was entirely too much acceptance and decidedly less guilt-tripping. "You know," Veronica said as she sat up, "you're being awfully blasé about this. Your only daughter is in god knows where Mexico, chasing after a possible murderer who's more than a little cranky with her at the moment. Where's the over-protectiveness? The lecture on how lying to your father is a bad, bad thing because he sees, knows, and senses all?"

"I trust you."

"But you don't trust anyone else. So what…" Veronica shoved the exhausted gears of her brain into motion, trying to figure out why her dad was acting decidedly un-dad-like. He knew she would try something, try to find Duncan wherever he was, but he didn't try to stop her. And Veronica knew her dad would only let her go on this crazy goose chase of hers if he had some means of tracking her progress and keeping an eye on her.

Tracking her progress…

She should have known.

"How did you know I was in Mexico?" Veronica asked, shifting the phone from one hand to the other.

"I thought we already answered that question with a good, old fashioned hunch."

"Only if we refer to hunches as tracking devices these days. You're the one who put the tracer on my car."

Her dad didn't deny it. Good to know that aside from all the lies of omission they told each other on a regular basis, her and her dad could engage in some genuine honesty with one another. "So you found it." He sounded proud. A little exasperated, but proud.

"I found it."

"I thought you might have. The signal's been bouncing around Tijuana all afternoon, going around in circles. Very suspicious behavior. Unless it's on, what, a taxi?"

"Close. A bus."

"So how'd you find it?"

Veronica stilled. "What?"

"What made you look under your car? Engine trouble? Flat tire? Your basic all around paranoia? Something tipped you off, honey, and if it was me, I need to get cracking on improving my mad P.I. skills. It's bad for business if a mad skilled P.I.'s daughter gets the best of him too often."

Veronica debated the pros and cons of lying to her father about Clarence Weidman. She didn't want to lie to him, but she knew he would freak out if he knew Weidman was following her. Neither option appealed, so she hesitated. That's all the answer her dad needed.

"Veronica, what happened? Are you all right?" She heard the concern in her dad's voice even across international lines.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. I spotted a tail in San Diego, searched my car, and found your tracer. That's all. I thought the tracer went with the tail. But don't worry. I ditched both the tail and the tracer back in Tijuana, so I'm fine now, Dad. Really."

"Do you know who was tailing you?"

"…yes."

"And?"

Veronica sighed and braced herself for the inevitable dirty bomb explosion of exasperation, frustration, and apprehension to her reply. "Clarence Weidman."

Her father didn't say anything. She waited, preparing herself for the expected orders to turn right back around and go straight home, the why didn't she call him as soon as she spotted the tail, as soon as she knew it was Weidman, but all he said was, "Where are you?"

"Why?"

"I'm coming to get you. You are not facing down Clarence Weidman by yourself."

"Dad, I don't have to face Weidman down. He has no idea where I am. And I'm not by myself, so don't worry about that."

"Depends on who's with you."

Veronica drew in a deep breath. The who was definitely somebody to worry about. "It's Logan Echolls."

Another pregnant pause. It was the rare occasion that Veronica actually threw her dad for the proverbial loop; twice in two minutes and Veronica found herself well on the way down that twisted ring of shock and awed confusion. Her dad said, "I didn't realize you two were friends again."

"We're not. Not really. I don't know. Maybe. Duncan's his friend. He wanted to help."

More silence. Then, "Veronica, I don't like this."

"I know."

"I know you two used to be friends, and you helped him with his mother recently, but I also know how he's treated you since Lilly's death."

Veronica sighed again. She expected the over-protectiveness and here it finally came. But the last thing she wanted to do was talk about Logan Echolls, especially with her father. "Dad, it's different. Things are different between us. The past is in the past, and for now, we're focused on finding Duncan. Both of us."

"Veronica-"

"Can you just trust me on this? I can handle Logan. And both of us can handle Duncan."

It was her dad's turn to sigh. She made a mental note to invest in a World's Best Dad mug for him when she got home. He said, "All right. All right, but you call me the second anything happens, okay? And I mean anything. Your car breaks down, you find Duncan, you spot Weidman again. You break a nail. Anything."

"I will."

She felt her dad's frustration over the phone, crackling like the static. "I got to go, honey. Bail jumper's on the move. Be careful. Please."

"I will. I promise."

Her dad said goodbye and hung up. Veronica tossed her phone onto the bed as she lay back down. Not quite the Spanish Inquisition she'd been expecting, a fact that definitely sealed the deal on that World's Best mug for her dad. But before her descent into kitschy knick-knacks, she had to make it through the next day, sanity intact. And making it through meant dealing with Duncan. And dealing with Duncan would be easier with Logan by her side instead of at her throat. And for that to happen, she'd have to deal with Logan.

But dealing with Logan meant dealing with Logan, something Veronica doubted either one of them wanted to do at the moment. It had to be done though. Her tried and true method of denial and avoidance hadn't worked. Denial hadn't made the kiss go away. She'd avoided Logan, but he was still there. She didn't know how to deal with the changes between them, but not dealing hadn't shed any light on the ever changing subject, and she knew it wouldn't. So it was time to deal. Somehow.

Veronica got up, got dressed, and left the hotel room.

…………

She found him sitting on the beach, jeans rolled up to his knees, bottle of tequila next to him in the sand. He ignored her as she approached, ignored her as she sat down beside him. No opening volley of verbal fire came her way, and Veronica took that as a sign not to turn tail and run like the more irrational parts of her brain were telling her to do. She sat in the silence, letting the rush of the ocean waves soothe her frazzled nerves. She licked her lips and wondered how the hell she'd start this discretionary reconciliation. Her eyes fell to the tequila bottle. She breathed in, paused, then reached for it; Logan yanked it out of her grasp before she could grab it. He set it aside, out of her reach, keeping one hand curled protectively around the neck. His body was tense, taut like a cornered animal's.

Veronica held up her hands. "I just wanted to see how many sheets to the wind you were," she said. "That's all."

"Not nearly enough to deal with you right now." A slight slur slowed his words. So one sheet, one and a half blowing. Perfect conditions for this sure to be stormy conversation.

"Sorry to rain on your drunken parade," Veronica said as she lowered her hands, "but we need to talk."

"Unless the next words out of your mouth are 'Logan, I'm a cold, manipulative bitch,' I don't want to hear it."

"How about 'I owe you an explanation' instead?"

"On why you're a-"

"Finish that thought and I'll dump Señor Cuervo into the ocean."

Logan sighed and flopped back against the sand. He threw an arm over his eyes and waved the other at her imperiously. "Go ahead, Buzzkill. Explain away. As if I haven't heard you yap enough on this trip as it is."

Veronica rolled her eyes. Kicking sand in his face and dumping his precious tequila in the ocean wouldn't improve matters between them, so she bit down on the urge for some petty vengeance. Communication, not confrontation, was the necessary method for this madness, at least according to the Oprah rerun she caught during dinner. Besides, petty vengeance always sufficed for a quite satisfying plan b.

"What I'm about to say," Veronica began, "isn't intended to garner sympathy or pity. I don't want them, especially from you. But you don't seem to grasp the reasons why I don't trust you, so I wanted to explain." She paused and steadied herself for the self-confessional portion of the evening. "I told you I don't trust you, and that's true. I don't. But don't take it personally. I don't trust anybody."

"So I'm just one of the herd. Fan-fucking-tastic."

She ignored him and soldiered on. "If there's anything I've learned this past year, it's that people will betray you. People will lie to you, no matter how much they claim to love you, and there's nothing you can do about it. All you can do is prepare for it, and that's what I do. I prepare for the worst because I know exactly how painful it can be. It's what I've lived since Lilly's death. People hating me, people lying to me, and people betraying me on a semi-regular basis. So just on general principles alone, I don't trust you."

"Wait. Let me guess. You have specific principles, too."

"Yes. I do. Lilly." No snarky comment came. Veronica figured she finally had his attention. "When I started finding the cracks in the case that Koontz built, I made a promise to myself and to Lilly that I'd find out the truth. Find out who killed her. Why. It hasn't been easy, and it's getting harder the closer I get. I can't trust anyone because I don't know who's involved, but I know I need somebody to help me uncover the truth before it's buried forever." Still nothing. Veronica shoved away the urge to sigh. "So do you see the inherent dilemma here? I don't trust anybody, but I need to trust somebody if I want to solve Lilly's murder."

More silence. Then, "And that somebody is me."

"You kind of voted yourself onto the island. Or into the Le Baron, in this case. I know things are awkward between us right now, but I'll need your help tomorrow with Duncan. I need to be able to trust you. So…"

Logan slid his arm off his face. He stared up at the stars, at the half moon shining down on them, but he didn't say anything. One hand fiddled with the tequila bottle; the other tapped out a quick rhythm on his chest. Then he sat up and looked at her. A sharp smile cut across his face; his teeth glistened like pearls, slick and white in the moonlight. "So let me get this straight," he said. "You don't trust me because of your jaded disillusionment in humanity, right?"

"…yes."

"Because I got the distinct impression when we were having our lovely little chat in your car that you don't trust me because, while we're more than friends right now, and we are more than friends no matter what your demented blonde brain's been telling you, we might not always be."

"You're twisting-"

"Did you or did you not say that you couldn't trust me because you couldn't predict what I'd feel for you five minutes from now?"

She did, in a sense, but she wouldn't admit that to him.

"I'll take your teeth clenching as a yes," Logan said. He shifted into a crouch and leaned in close to her. His eyes shone like the ocean. She resisted the urge to lean away from his invasion of personal space and met his gaze head on. "So, really," he continued, "you don't trust me because you're afraid."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"I didn't say you were. _You_," he said, jabbing a finger in her direction, "are afraid to trust me."

His declaration hung in the air like the moon in the sky, bold, brilliant, shining light on shadows Veronica wanted concealed. She blinked once then said, "Like you've given me any reason to."

A half-second showdown and then Logan shot up and hurled his tequila bottle into the bay. Veronica fell back as he spun toward her, eyes blazing, his frustration razor bright. "I fucking came after you when I thought that Chuck Norris wannabe was going to hurt you! What more of a goddamn reason do you need? Do you need me to spell out how fucking terrified I was that I wouldn't get there in time? That I'd find your dead body somewhere just like- just like-" His voice broke and he stopped, stopped still, fists clenched, jaw tight, eyes wide and staring up at the sky.

And there was no sound but the crashing of the waves, no sound but Logan's harsh breaths and the rat-a-tat-tat pounding of Veronica's heart. No sound until she said, "Just like Lilly," so soft she thought it would be lost in the rushing silence.

But Logan nodded. He sighed, a thick, shaky sigh that wrapped around Veronica and lifted her eyes up toward him. Then he said, words shaky like that sigh, "You want a guarantee that I'll always feel this way, I can't give it to you. You said it yourself: there are no guarantees in life. The people you trust betray you. The people you love leave you. What I feel for you now, it might not last. It probably won't because you are one goddamn _difficult_ woman." His eyes found hers. "But you're worth the risk. And what you need to decide right now is whether I'm worth that risk, too."

"I can't decide that now. It's not that easy."

"Yes, it is. There is something here between us. You either act on that or you don't."

"It's not that simple, Logan. There are other factors to consider."

"Bullshit. You want me or you don't. It's that simple."

Veronica always excelled under pressure. The more stress, the better. The sharper and finer her mind focused until she attained a laser-like precision and shot through the obstacles in her path, blowing them away one by one. But now, now her brain shut down fast and hard like a runaway steel trap, clanging closed with a metaphorical bang that left her breathless. The time to deal had arrived, and she choked.

Logan watched her. The fevered glow of confrontation faded from his eyes, slowly as her silence dragged on, leaving behind a pale blankness, his face bone smooth and just as hard. That jagged smile of his surfaced, but only for a moment. It sank fast like a broken heart. Veronica wondered if it was hers.

He shook his head and turned away. He started for the hotel, but she was up off the ground and reaching out for him before he made it two steps. Her hand touched his arm and she said, "Logan," and he spun back around.

He said, "See? Simple." Then he swooped down, a dive bombing missile aimed straight for her heart, and kissed her. Her mind blanked again then filled firework bright as his tongue touched hers. Her bones melted; her skin burned; she reached up for him, hung on, held tight. His hands swept across her back, matches to her nerves, lighting them up like sparklers. And she couldn't breathe; she couldn't breathe; she didn't want to; she didn't care. She-

He stopped, recoiled back whiplash fast, and Veronica stumbled into the void. One hand grabbed her shoulder, eased her up. She opened her eyes and saw sand. She dragged her gaze up to his face. He looked at her, confusion etching lines on his brow. That's when she heard the phone.

Logan's hand slid into his pocket, slid out again molasses slow with his cell phone. He peered down at it; Gwen Stefani's _Rich Girl _chirped back at him. He looked at her again and said, "It's Duncan."

He swallowed and continued to stare. The ringing started over again and Veronica finally snapped out of the heady, kiss-filled languor clouding her mind. She smacked him on the shoulder and said, "Answer it!"

Logan fumbled for the talk button. He pressed it, brought the phone up to his ear, and said, "Duncan! Hey, man, where-? What? Sort of. Why?" He paused, listened for a beat then said, "Duncan, I don't- All right. All right. I think so. I'm not sure. Why is this so important?" Another pause. Logan glanced at Veronica. Something passed over his face, but he turned away from her before she could decipher what it meant. He took a few steps toward the ocean. His free hand clenched, unclenched, and clenched again. "Did you?" More silence on Logan's end as he listened to Duncan. A minute passed. Logan stopped moving. Another minute. He grew still, a stone statue in the lapping waves. Then he said, "Duncan! Duncan!"

His arm dropped slow motion down to his side. He thumbed the talk button, ended the call. He rubbed a hand across his mouth, eased it around to the back of his neck, and left it there. Veronica moved next to him. He stared wide-eyed at the ocean, his mouth closed, lips thin and bloodless. She laid a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped, jerked out of his stupor. His eyes flickered over to her then away, gaze flitting from the sand to the sea to the sky. Anywhere but her.

"Logan, what happened?"

Nothing.

"What did he say? Logan?"

"You know what, Veronica," Logan said, his words slow, measured, his gaze still averted. "You were right. There areother factors to consider. Things aren't that simple." He peered down at phone. A shadow of something, anger, pain, guilt, Veronica didn't know, darkened his face. He shook his head, slow like his words, and continued, "Things are never simple." He paused and took a deep breath. He said, "So we should probably-"

"Why won't you tell me what Duncan said?"

Logan sighed and closed his eyes. His licked his lips. He swallowed again. He still didn't look at her. "If he wanted you to know, he would have told you himself."

"Then call him back and I'll ask him myself."

"No."

"Fine. I'll call him." Veronica grabbed her cell phone stuffed into her back pocket. She flipped it open. Logan lunged for the phone; she jumped back, out of his reach. He darted forward again, but she twisted away. They stared at each other, unexpected fighters to their respective corners, Veronica in shock, Logan in desperation. Both in determination. Their eyes fell, prey to gravity, down to her black hole phone. A picture of her dad and Backup glimmered back up at them from the small screen. Her thumb drifted over the tiny buttons.

"Veronica, don't."

"Why not?"

"Because I asked you to."

She closed her eyes on the phone, opened them on Logan. His eyes were soft, pleading. He didn't want her to call. He didn't want her to know. But she had to know. "Tell me what he said and I won't have to." A half-second hesitation. The softness hardened in his eyes, and he looked away. Hot tears pricked her eyes, but Veronica steeled herself against them. She gritted her teeth, swallowed back the betrayal clawing its way up her throat. "He told you, didn't he? He confessed. He killed Lilly, and he told you, and you're protecting him." More silence, hot and heavy like her tears. "I trusted you to help me find the truth. To help me get justice for Lilly." Her breath hitched. Her hands shook. "I trusted you."

A beat and then, "You shouldn't have." Then he turned and walked away.

…………


	4. Citizen Kane

Title: Forty Miles from the Sun

Author: Wynn

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Veronica Mars_. They are owned by Rob Thomas, UPN, Warner Brothers, etc. and are used for non-profit, entertainment purposes only.

AN: Many, many thanks go out to Arabian for helping me deal with the fic issues plaguing me for this chapter and helping me finish it. I apologize for the rather large delay between chapters, but at least the new chapter's finished.

Chapter Four: Citizen Kane

By: Wynn

The Le Baron was gassed up, packed full, and obsessively cleaned out until it was spotless. Veronica had checked out of her room and interviewed Pedro the day man about Duncan's whereabouts. She'd traced, highlighted, and written down the route to the latest pit stop on her wayward ex's road to nowhere before calling ahead to see if he was actually still there. Which he was. She'd made her list, checked it twice, and was ready to hit the road and leave this sorry little town and its stupid, stupid beach far, far behind.

There was just one problem.

She stood before said problem's door and banged her fist against it (again.) Logan didn't answer the door and present himself for solution (again), so Veronica whipped out her cell phone and punched in his number (again, again, _again_.) Four rings and then another rendition of today's inspirational message: _He who climbs a ladder must begin at the first step_. She cut the message off before the beep beeped; she doubted her thoughts on where exactly Logan could stick that proverbial ladder would solve her problem.

Not that Veronica knew exactly how to solve her problem. She wanted to leave Logan in this sorry little town with its stupid, stupid beach far, far behind and drive off into the Mexican sunset, making sure he got a big choking mouthful of her dust. She knew if she continued to attempt first contact, she'd have to suffer more antisocial interaction with everyone's favorite- but not hers- son of Neptune. Pulling a Houdini to avoid that unfortunate fate would be worth the price of abandonment she'd surely have to suffer at their inevitable reunion north of the border.

But if she left she wouldn't know what, if anything, Logan might have told Duncan about her Mexican pursuit. Assuming, of course, that he'd gotten in touch with Duncan sometime during the night, a mission she herself had failed. And the more information she had about Duncan's prospective state of mind, the smoother, she hoped, their reunion would be.

Damn it. No unrepentant abandonment today.

Okay. So now she actually had to _get_ the information. Veronica supposed she could go get the motel manager and have him open the door for her. Since, she doubted, Logan would be doing that anytime soon. But getting the manager meant involving other people in this war of the words she and Logan found themselves (constantly) in and that, she knew, would result in incarceration for _someone_. Most likely her, especially if Logan got snippy within arms reach of her.

So Veronica had to get into the room to get the information without any help from Logan, the manager, or anyone else in the rest of the world.

Sighing, she stuck her hand into her bag and removed her lock pick set. Breaking and entering it would be.

Veronica grabbed hold of the doorknob, ready to break in order to enter, but the door popped open beneath her hand. Great. Unlocked doors always signaled badness. Always. At least in the movies. Unlocked doors signaled the serial killer waiting patiently for you to come inside so he could chase after you with a big butcher knife or some other appropriately gory weapon and kill you. Veronica knew the reality behind this door would be just as bad as the cinema killer fantasy. Logan was a Hatori Hanzo of words, laying waste to his enemies with a crimson bloodlust and a samurai tongue. She shouldn't go inside, she knew she shouldn't, but everyone went inside.

Veronica opened the door.

Early morning sunlight followed her into the room, knocking back the musty darkness. Veronica stopped inside the threshold and let her eyes adjust to the shadows. A moment later she found herself in a war zone. Broken glass glinted and gleamed in the bright morning sun all across the floor. What used to be a small table and chair lay in a jagged pile of splinters on an equally ragged patch of carpeting. The bed had been stripped bare, the sheets and blankets strewn every which way throughout the room. The bedside lamps sat cracked on the floor, their upended nightstands next to them, their legs ripped off and missing. And in the far corner, surrounded by a trio of empty liquor bottles, a half-full fourth grasped between two loose fingers, sat Logan himself, oblivious to Veronica and the hotel carnage surrounding him.

Veronica took another step into the room. She winced at the crackle-pop of crunching glass beneath her feet. Logan looked up at the echoing pops and she froze as his bleary gaze found her. Neither of them spoke. Silence like water filled the room. Her heart thumped heavy in her chest. The liquor bottle slipped from Logan's fingers, and Veronica watched it fall, a cheap crystal pigeon deep rolling down to a dull thud landing on the carpet. The bottle tipped over and spilled its tawny contents onto the industrial cotton-poly blend. Then it smacked against the wall, cracking like a shot. Her eyes jerked back to Logan as he spoke, his voice whiskey coated steel wool.

"There's a reason I didn't answer the door."

She found her voice, forced it out smooth and level. "Or your phone."

"Or my phone." He lumbered to his feet and staggered over to the sink. He filled a plastic cup with water, drank it down, filled another, and gulped it just as fast as the first. Then he said, "I had my fill of Twenty Questions last night. Don't start another round today, Ronnie."

"I need to know if Duncan knows I'm tracking him."

Logan closed his eyes. "Go away, Veronica."

"Did you tell him? Did you talk to him again last night?"

Logan looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "No. No, he didn't answer my calls. Just like I'm sure he didn't answer yours." He turned around and leaned back against the sink. His face was set solid, impenetrable to her probing glances. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, "And that probably means he doesn't want to talk to anyone. Including you."

"I won't have to talk to him if you tell me what he said."

"Christ, Veronica, let it go. It had nothing to do with Lilly or your investigation."

"Then what did it have to do with?"

Logan hesitated. "Nothing. Guy stuff."

"You're lying. Why? Why won't you tell me the truth?"

"Because you won't like what you'll here, and I'm trying-"

"To what? Protect me? I don't need protection, Logan. I need to know the truth." Veronica shook her head. She felt the conversation reins slip from her grasp. This wasn't where she wanted them to go, but they'd gathered too much speed for her to change course now. "I need to know the truth. And it's obvious you won't give it to me."

He white knuckle gripped the sink. "What is so great about the truth anyway, Veronica? Does it give you peace of mind? Everlasting happiness? No."

"Peace of mind, yes."

"Did it for your dad? He knew the truth about Abel Koontz, and did it give him peace of mind? No. It destroyed his life and yours, too. Do you think that me knowing the truth about my mom makes her death any easier to bear? Because it doesn't. It doesn't."

"But you had to know the truth. You came to me to find out what really happened to your mom because you couldn't live with the lie. You couldn't live with what everyone else believed but you felt in your heart to be wrong. And now you expect me to do just that." She shook her head again. "God, Logan, I never expected you to be a hypocrite."

Logan tightened his hold on the sink. "It's not hypocrisy. It's learning from your mistakes."

She exploded, a short fused firecracker bursting on the upswing. "Wanting to know the truth is never a mistake! Wanting something tangible and real to hold on to so you can stop tormenting yourself with the what-ifs and the maybes is never a mistake. You might be comfortable living a lie, but I'm not. I'll take the cold, hard, _concrete_ truth any day, no matter how unpleasant it might be."

He watched her with hard, hooded eyes. The silence around them was not silent at all but loud, humming with memories of words said and unsaid, of broken headlights and balcony kisses, of friendships betrayed and the ghost of a dead girl they both loved. Logan pushed off the sink and moved toward her. "Fine," he said. "You want the truth. I'll give it to you."

"Fine. Give it to me."

Veronica waited. She propped her hands on her hips and waited. She waited while Logan licked his lips and shuffled from one foot to the other. She waited while he looked at her and then looked away. She waited while his hesitation dragged on. She waited while he closed his eyes. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe _him_. She'd been a fool to think that he'd really changed, that her trust in him hadn't been misplaced. She'd been a fool to trust him. She wouldn't be a fool any longer.

She turned to go.

"Veronica, wait. Wait, damn it. Veronica!"

She stopped and looked back at him. He'd taken one step forward for her step back. He held his hand out, whether for her to take it or to drag her back kicking and screaming she didn't know. "I'm done waiting," she said. "I've asked you to be honest with me, and you haven't been. I've asked you to tell me the truth, and you won't. For whatever reason, you won't, and I'm tired of waiting for you to think up another lie."

She held his gaze, measured his hesitation in heartbeats. She waited one. She waited two. She didn't wait for three.

…………

He caught up with her at her car and jumped inside before she could take off. Once again she cursed herself for having bought a convertible. Her next car would be something impenetrable. A tank. An armored car. Fort Knox on wheels.

Logan shot first. "When the fuck have I _ever _lied to you?"

Her hands clenched on the steering wheel. Hot leather scorched her skin. She didn't feel it though. Her blood burned hot like the sun. "You haven't," she said through gritted teeth. "But-"

"But what? You just automatically assume that's what I'm going to do now? God, talk about hypocrisy."

"Excuse me?"

"Out of the two of us here, who's kept the most secrets? Told the most lies? _You._ You investigated Lilly's death behind all of our backs. You stuck your nose into business that didn't concern you, _without_ anybody's permission, and now you're harping on me about secrets and lies? Un-fucking-believable."

"I'm sorry. When exactly was I supposed to confide in you? When you were threatening me with a crowbar? Or when you were cheering on my arrest by the Sheriff's department?"

"I don't know, Veronica. How about when we made Lilly's memorial video? A little 'Hey, Logan, nice video. By the way, did you know that the guy rotting away in prison for killing your girlfriend really didn't? Just thought you might want to know.'"

"To which you would have replied, 'Thanks, Ronnie. I always knew you Mars women were paranoid schizophrenics as well as raging alcoholics. Now I have proof. Yippee.'"

Logan shook his head. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"That's not what happened when you told me yesterday. I listened to you. Christ, I _believed_ you."

"That's because you were ready to hear what I had to say. You weren't six months ago. You weren't six _weeks_ ago. You wouldn't have given me the time of day much less have listened to anything I had to say." Veronica let go of the steering wheel. She leaned her head back against the seat and stared off at the ocean. Waves crashed down upon waves, endless and constant; Veronica sympathized with the ever beaten sand. "I told you when you were ready," she said, quieter. Quieter still: "When I was ready."

"Which is exactly what I'm trying to do now." Logan sighed and slouched down in his seat. He rubbed a hand over his face. His eyes were bloodshot, his mouth a fine white line. "Duncan ran away, Veronica. He ran away from everyone and everything he loves because of what he told me on the phone last night and that doesn't make you think it might be just a _little_ bit difficult to discuss again?"

"Just tell me the truth, Logan. I can handle it."

He looked over at her, a homespun crystal boy, his insides laid bare for all the world to see. For all of her to see. And she saw the cracks beneath the sneers and the snark, cracks widening and popping like the broken glass beneath her feet.

"I don't think I can," he said.

She wanted to reach out and comfort him. Hold his hand. Tell him everything would be all right. But she couldn't. She had no warmth left to give. The weight of the truth cast too long a shadow over the both of them, hiding them shivering and shaken from the sun.

"Logan." She knew the time had come. She was the sea and he was the sand and she'd worn him down to this. She'd ask the question again, and he, he would answer. "What did he say?"

Logan looked down. He looked down and blew her world apart. "What do you remember about Shelly Pomroy's party?"

"I…_what_?"

"Duncan said… He said you didn't remember much. Or anything at all."

"What?" Veronica blinked and tried to close the gap between what he said and what she thought he'd say. "I don't… I don't understand."

"That's what we talked about. Her party. What happened at her party."

"No…" This wasn't real. This wasn't true. Veronica clung to the thought even though she knew it was a lie.

"You slept with someone that night. You woke up alone. You didn't remember what had happened, so you thought… you told the Sheriff that you had been raped."

"No…" She wanted to stop what would come next, what he would say next, but she asked for it. She'd demanded the truth, and she couldn't give it back because it wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"Duncan didn't know. He didn't remember what had happened until a few days ago. He drank the night of the party. I didn't know he wasn't supposed to. Not when he was on his meds. Christ, I didn't even know he was taking anything then. And you…" His eyes flickered over to her then away. "You were…"

"Drugged." The word felt strange on her lips. Or maybe it was that her lips felt strange to the word. Numb. Dumb. Drugged. Fucked.

"Yeah." A pause, a hitch in his story, and then, "Duncan didn't remember anything about Lilly's death, Veronica. He remembered Shelly's party. That's why he ran away. You two slept together that night and you thought you'd been raped, that he raped you, so he ran away."

Logan stopped talking, and Veronica was left with nothing but her thoughts. Duncan. It had been Duncan all along. Duncan was the one who did that to her. She turned away. She felt sick. She wanted to throw up. Duncan. Duncan slept with her. Duncan left her. Why would he do that? Why would he leave her? If all they did was sleep together, why did he leave? Wouldn't he have stayed, even if he hated her? Why didn't he tell her the truth when he remembered instead of running? If he knew she thought she'd been raped, why wouldn't he have told her the truth?

"There's more."

Veronica let out a choked sob. "More? God, what else is there to say?"

"I… Veronica, I was the one who drugged you."

And for the second time in one day, Logan blew her world apart. She turned and looked at him. Everything felt slow, moved in slow motion. Her, her thoughts, the tears dropping from her eyes like fireflies, gleaming in the sun on the way down to the ground. She met his gaze; his eyes were red and drowning in guilt. Tracks of tears cut across his cheeks like pinstripes. Veronica couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. "You… you drugged me?"

"I didn't know. Veronica, I didn't know what would happen. I didn't know you slept with Duncan. I didn't know you thought… I didn't know. You have to believe me. Please say you believe me."

Please. Please believe. She had nothing to believe. She had nothing to say except, "Why?"

He laughed then. Or maybe cried. Everything sounded the same to Veronica. Betrayal wrapped in disbelief cloaked in madness. He jerked his hands through his hair and swallowed hard. "Christ, I don't know. You just showed up at the party like you owned the damn place. Like you were better than everyone there and not afraid to show it. And, god… I hated you. I hated that you could be that strong and just show up and give the proverbial fuck you to everyone. I hated that you weren't off shaking and miserable from betraying Lilly because, you know, that's what I thought. That you betrayed Lilly. That you turned your back on her and me and everyone else in that house and then had the gall to come and flaunt it in front of our faces."

"So you drugged me."

When he spoke, he whispered, his words wisps of wind gliding gently to her ear. But they plowed through her consciousness like a wrecking ball, laying waste to what had been, to what could have been.

"Yes."

"You drugged me because you wanted to hurt me."

"Yes."

She looked up. The clouds streamed across the sky, bleeding into the blue. Veronica blinked and the world snapped back into focus. "Get out."

"Veronica…"

"Get out. Now."

"Veronica, please."

"Get out of my car before I make you get out."

"Veronica, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was drunk and angry and so fucking _stupid_ and you have to know that things have changed. That I have changed. _We _havechanged. Please, god, you have to know that I-"

"I don't know anything except that I want you out of my car right now."

Veronica stared straight ahead. The world looked the same, the ocean still rolled, the sun still shone, but everything had changed. She slipped her hand inside her pocket, grasped her taser, and waited.

The click of the car door sounded like a cannon. She grabbed her keys as Logan stepped out, turned the engine as he eased the door shut, peeled out of the parking lot as he stepped away.

She didn't look back.

…………

Another town, another lot, another boy who betrayed her. Or so Logan said. But nothing Logan said could be trusted anymore because Logan couldn't be trusted. He drugged her to hurt her, damn the consequences, what fucking consequences, Logan has no consequences, and if he could do that, he could just as easily lie, even if the lie implicated his so-called best friend.

Duncan wouldn't leave her. He wouldn't. He wouldn't have just left like that without saying something. Without waking her up or leaving her a note or bringing the whole goddamn 09er crew into the room for a good laugh at stupid, clueless Veronica. He couldn't do that. Not to her. He loved her once. He did. And you don't do that to someone you love.

Her phone rang again, but she switched it off without looking. She already knew who it was, and she'd heard all she wanted to hear from him today. Now it was time for Duncan to talk. Veronica didn't care how painful or difficult or goddamn stressful it might be for him, she was going to ask questions and he was going to answer them.

She'd knocked on his door once, but no one had answered. She'd slipped inside, but the room was empty. Now she sat in her car waiting for him to come back, composing what she was going to say in her head, making sure she knew it by heart so it came out smooth and level with no breaks, cracks, or tears.

A blur of movement broke her from her thoughts. A lone figure shuffled up the sidewalk of the motel toward Veronica.

It was Duncan.

He looked different. Thinner. Less substantial somehow. She doubted she would have recognized him if she hadn't been actively searching for him. He was still tall and broad with shoulders wide like the desert sky, but he walked hunched over and hollow. His arms swam in his blue t-shirt, exhaustion cut navy swaths beneath his eyes, and dark stubble like cacti dotted his chin. He'd only been missing four days, but it looked more like four years to Veronica.

He walked past without seeing her and entered his room, slipping into the waiting darkness and sliding the door shut behind him. Still Veronica did not move. All her carefully composed words abandoned her. She looked down at her hands and realized they were shaking.

She closed her eyes and rested her head on the steering wheel. Just a moment. She only needed a moment and then she would go. Then she would go.

The car door opened and she didn't have time to scream before Clarence Weidman shoved a rag over her face and the world faded to black.

…………

Consciousness returned slowly to Veronica, slinking in like a stray cat at the rat-a-tat sounds of something. She opened her eyes, closed them again at the too-bright light greeting her, and then opened them again slower, allowing her pupils time to adjust to the normal levels of light that felt like an exploding supernova to her frayed nerves.

She stared up at a blank white ceiling for a minute before the rat-a-tats regained her attention. Turning her head, Veronica saw Weidman hunched over something flat and squarish at a small round table. The something flat and squarish was her computer. Great. His fingers flew over the keys with ease, and Veronica doubted her standard password protection would protect her private files from his prying eyes.

She let her gaze drift around the room- a motel room by the bland, standard look of things- and tried to garner some clues as to the where, when, and why. Where was she? Was she still in Mexico or did Weidman take her somewhere else altogether? How much time had passed since she passed out? And, most importantly, why had Weidman kidnapped her? She had a pretty good idea about the last one (it began with a 'D' and ended with an 'uncan') but the other two stayed as vague and fuzzy as the cobwebs in her brain.

"Good. You're awake."

Veronica eased up into a sitting position and glared at Weidman. "Good. I'm alive."

"I have no wish to kill you, Miss Mars. I need to talk to you. Therefore, I need you alive."

"You know, a simple tap on the glass would have gotten my attention. You didn't have to kidnap me and hold me hostage just to talk to me."

"Miss Mars, you are not my hostage. I am not keeping you here against your will. You are free to go any time that you wish."

Veronica swung her feet over the edge of the bed she'd been laying on and planted them firmly on the floor. She didn't need to be told twice that she could get the hell out of there.

"However," Weidman said as he lowered the screen of her laptop, "I would advise against leaving now."

"You would, would you?"

"Yes. I would."

Though her brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton and the room swam around her like a shaken snow globe, Veronica got his hidden message loud and clear. She tried to suppress the shiver that ran down her spine at his cool, clinical demeanor. Not everyone could pull off the casual threat of death and dismemberment without batting an eyelash, but Weidman could and did. Just because he had no wish to kill her, didn't mean he wouldn't if she didn't give him what he wanted, when he wanted it. Her phone was gone, the door was locked, and her taser was nowhere to be found. No one knew where she was or that she was even missing. Weidman held the power and the advantage in this situation, and he knew it.

He knew she knew it, too.

Swallowing hard, Veronica said, "What do you want?"

"To talk with you. Privately and directly."

"About what?"

Weidman opened her laptop again and swung it around to face her. Veronica looked at the screen; the Lilly Kane files looked back at her. "You are going to stop your investigation into Lilly Kane's death," Weidman said, his voice slow and measured. "You are not to continue the investigation after you leave this room. If your father has continued his own investigation into the murder, you will convince him to stop. You will not ask Duncan Kane what he remembers about the murder, and if he or anyone else tries to speak to you about it, you will change the subject and not engage in discourse. Do you understand?"

Veronica considered his words, no, his commands. Then she lifted her eyes and forced herself to meet that cool, clinical gaze. "And if I don't?"

"You won't like the consequences."

"So you'll kill me?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you meant it."

"If that's what it takes to get you to stop, then yes."

Another threat, another shiver. Veronica clenched her hands into the cheap motel bedding. Rough cotton bit back. The grit kept her grounded to the here and now, kept her mind from drifting off into a hazy field of fear and panic. "My father knows you're following me," she said. "If anything happens to me, you'll be the first one he comes after."

"I'm sure I will be," Weidman said, taking the threat of Keith Mars' vengeance with a grain of salt, "but like I said before, I don't wish to harm you. Nobody wishes to harm you."

Nobody wished to harm her. Then why was he here, threatening to kill her, if _nobody_ wished to harm her. "By nobody, you mean Jake Kane, right?"

Weidman just stared at her, his face giving nothing away. It didn't take a genius though to figure out that 'nobody' meant Jake Kane. Weidman worked for him, did his bidding. Veronica doubted Weidman cared one way or another about Lilly's death or the cover up, but Jake Kane did. Jake Kane cared about stopping her investigation, so much so that he resorted to threatening a teenage girl to keep the truth hidden. And Jake Kane was many things, a liar and an adulterer among them, but he wasn't a gambler. He wasn't a fool. He wouldn't risk the odds of her father figuring out that he was behind her death unless the consequences of her continued investigation proved too risky for him. Or for someone he loves.

"He did it, didn't he?" Veronica said, keeping her eyes on Weidman. "Duncan. He killed Lilly, and Jake and Celeste covered it up."

Weidman sighed. He slipped her laptop into a black leather briefcase and stood. "Miss Mars, Duncan Kane didn't kill his sister."

"Then why were his parents washing his soccer uniform the day Lilly died?"

Weidman peered at her for a moment through his cool, calculating eyes. Then he said, "Miss Mars, I admire your determination to attain justice for your friend. Therefore I'm going to answer your question and then you are going to stop trying to attain justice for your friend. Do you understand?"

Veronica said nothing.

Weidman took a step forward. "Do you understand?"

Veronica blinked. "Yes. Yes, I understand."

"Good. Duncan found Lilly. Mr. and Mrs. Kane originally thought that Duncan might have killed his sister in one of his epileptic fits, so they washed his uniform to protect him. They have since learned differently."

"What-?"

Weidman moved toward her, so fast that Veronica didn't have time to react. He brought his face within inches of hers, so close she could see herself reflected in his eyes. The brim of his hat touched her forehead, and he said, "No. More. Questions. I will find out if you continue your investigation, and there will be consequences if you do so. And Miss Mars? You will not like the consequences." He straightened then, but didn't move back. Veronica couldn't see his eyes in the shadow of his hat, but she could feel him staring down at her. She swallowed again and dug her fingers harder into the bed. Weidman tipped his hat down toward her then said, "Good afternoon, Miss Mars. I hope you have a pleasant afternoon."

With that, he stepped back and turned around. The edge of his trench brushed against her legs and Veronica shivered again. Weidman reached the door, unlocked it, and opened the darkness of the room to the bright afternoon sunshine. Then he stepped across the threshold and closed the door, leaving Veronica alone and shaken.

She let out a long breath and closed her eyes. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. She let go of the blanket and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears, bass drums booming like fireworks exploding like bombs. Her mouth was dry and her palms were wet; her stomach felt cold and her eyes felt hot. She reached out and fumbled for the phone on the chipped nightstand. She dropped the phone from her shaking hands and crumpled down onto the floor to retrieve it. Then she dialed, held the phone up to her ear, and waited.

Her father answered on the second ring. She burst out crying at his hello.

"Veronica? Veronica, honey, what's wrong? Veronica, talk to me."

"Dad… Daddy… something happened."

…………


	5. The Wind Cries Veronica

Title: Forty Miles from the Sun

Author: Wynn

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Veronica Mars. _They are owned by Rob Thomas, UPN, Warner Brothers, Joel Silver, etc. and are used for non-profit, entertainment purposes only.

AN: Graduate school sucks, at least when it comes to fic writing. But now that I am on winter break, I have time to write and have returned to finish 40 Miles. If you can call this a finish. Because it really isn't.

Chapter Five: The Wind Cries Veronica

By: Wynn

Home. The concept sounded strange to Veronica, and she'd only been gone two days. Two days and everything changed. Or nothing had changed except herself. Her room looked the same; the same cotton sheets covered her bed; the same pictures lined her walls. But the room felt different. _She_ felt different. She sat on the edge of her bed, hands clasped between her knees, and let her eyes wander around the room, trying to find something familiar, something solid she could hold on to and not drift away in memories of the day before.

Her gaze fell to the picture on her nightstand. A simple black frame enclosed a snapshot of her father she'd taken one day last summer. Up to his elbows in soap suds, a wet, wriggling Backup in his arms, a wide smile creasing his tanned face. Veronica picked the picture up, laid it down in her lap, and stared at that smile until it seared its way into her brain, until it drove the day before to the back of her mind and kept it there.

The bed dipped beside her. Veronica felt her father wrap one arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, closed her eyes, and breathed him in, breathed in the scent of soap and blue skies, of coffee and the hot sauce he liked to eat with his eggs.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Veronica shook her head.

"Because I think we should talk about it."

"I know you do."

"I'm worried about you, Veronica."

"I know you are."

"Because yesterday…" Her dad drifted off and tightened his hold on her shoulders. He kissed the top of her head, and she felt his sigh ruffle the loose strands of her hair. She knew thoughts of yesterday flashed through his mind, her frantic phone call, his tense drive down through Mexico, because he had already been on his way since their last call the night before, him finding her shaken and soft and letting the tears flow unbidden, unceasing until they matched the Pacific with their depth. She knew he remembered and wanted to talk. Wanted to deal.

"My little girl…"

Veronica leaned back and looked up. "Is lucky to have a dad like you."

Her dad smiled and kissed the top of her head again. Then he looked down at her, his eyes troubled and serious. She wanted the wide, face-creasing smile back, wanted to see him as happy as he was that one summer morning a long time ago, but she didn't know how to ease his mind when her own still rocked and rolled like the turbulent sea.

"I still think we should talk about what happened yesterday. Every dad instinct I have tells me we should talk about it."

"I know. And we will. Sometime."

"But not now."

Veronica shook her head. Her dad stared at her a moment longer, the debate over whether or not to push clear on his face. The moment passed, and he stood and said, "Wallace called twice this morning."

"What did you tell him?"

"That you caught a nasty case of Montezuma's Revenge down in Mexico and had locked yourself in the bathroom indefinitely."

One corner of her mouth curved up into a smile. "What did he say to that?"

"That the next time he called I better think of a better excuse for you not coming to the phone than a bad case of the runs."

And the corner curve bloomed into a full-fledged grin. "If he calls again, tell him I'll talk to him tomorrow at school."

"You're going to school tomorrow?"

"Well, it _is _Monday. I thought I could put in an appearance."

Her dad shot her a look, but she could tell he was pleased with her spark of sarcastic life. "Dinner's in thirty minutes. Pork chops and mac 'n' cheese. The real stuff, too. No powder this time."

"And people say we aren't high class."

"Hey, nothing's too good for my little girl."

Another tilt of a smile and then her dad slipped back out of her room as quietly as he had entered. Veronica set the picture back on her nightstand. She still felt different, like an out of focus copy of the sharp girl who'd sneaked and schemed and plotted her way after Duncan and the truth three days ago. But she had both feet on the ground now and a beacon to guide her back to the girl she had been before.

Backup trotted into her room then, his tail whipping back and forth a million miles per second. He had his leash in his mouth and a hopeful look in his eyes. He placed his head on her knees and looked up at her with big, beautiful, brown eyes that every conman in the country wished he had. One look from those eyes and Veronica wanted to give him all the dog biscuits money could buy.

She took the leash from his mouth and scratched the top of his head. His butt wriggled in pleasure and another smile made its way onto Veronica's face. Okay, so she had two beacons. A dad beacon and a dog beacon. One to leave her alone when she needed space to deal and one to drag her out into the real world and make her deal whether she wanted to or not.

She stood and let Backup drag her out into the real world.

She decided that she could start dealing tomorrow.

…………

The message was there on her cell phone when she woke Monday morning, ready to return to school and start dealing.

"Hey, Veronica. It's, uh, it's me. I know we should talk, but it's, it's better this way. I just… I wanted to say that I'm sorry. For hurting you. Because I know I did. I didn't… I don't… I wish things could be different. Between us. But they're not, and I, I know they never will be. So I just wanted to tell you again that I'm sorry. Because I am. I hope you know that.

"I love you.

"Bye."

Veronica turned off her phone and crawled back into bed.

She decided that she could start dealing tomorrow.

…………

"So do you want to talk about it?"

Veronica looked up from the turkey surprise she was picking to death with her fork and found Wallace staring at her over the lunch table. Staring at her like he was waiting for her to say something. She felt a momentary pang of guilt for not paying attention to him, for allowing the thoughts inside her head take her over again, and she said, "I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked if you wanted to talk about it."

Veronica looked back down at her food. "There's nothing to talk about, Wallace."

"You don't actually expect me to believe that do you?"

Her hand tightened on her fork. "Why not? It's the truth."

"Bullshit."

"Wallace…"

"No. Don't Wallace me. Something's wrong, Veronica. You know it. I know it. You know that I know it. So don't play this game you're trying to play."

"It's not a game."

"No. It isn't." Wallace looked down, drew in a deep breath. Then he said, "Look, Veronica, you don't have to act like everything's all right when it obviously isn't. If you don't want to talk about what happened in Mexico, just say so. Just, just don't lie to me, all right?"

Her momentary pang of guilt quickened into a fixed focus, hanging heavy in her gut. After all of her harping about wanting to know the truth this weekend, she came back and lied to Wallace, Wallace who lied for her and helped her and called her four times since she came back just to check up on her. She laid her fork down and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… No. I _did _mean to lie, but I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's all right."

"No, it isn't. It's just…" Veronica looked away. Her eyes drifted over to the 09er table, to where Duncan and Logan should have been but weren't. For all Veronica knew, they were both still in Mexico, wallowing in their respective guilt as they drowned their sorrows in tequila and the hot desert sun. She closed her eyes and tried to push it all away, push Duncan and Logan to the dark corners of her mind where the truth about Shelly's party and the death of Lilly lurked, seeping poison into her slow, steady, until all she was were lies. "It's just. I don't know…"

"Don't know what?"

"Anything. Everything."

"Do you want to know?"

Did she want to know? She had. In the past. Before. Before she knew. From the night Lilly died to the day her mom left to the morning she woke up alone and different in a strange bed in a strange house, all Veronica had wanted was to know. Know what. Know why. It drove her and consumed her. It sent her down to Mexico, tough and determined; it sent her back to Neptune, broken and soft. She breathed truth like oxygen and choked on the lies, and she was choking now, fading fast, drowning in memories both misty and fraudulent.

Did she want to know?

Did she?

Was the truth worth the price, worth the pain? Could she live the lie, push it all away and exist as though the past week, past month, past year had never happened?

Veronica looked up at Wallace, at beacon number three, and nodded. Hard. Tough. Determined. "I want to know."

Wallace smiled and nodded in return. "Okay. Okay, good. So, now, the question is, how would you go about knowing what you don't know?"

Veronica sighed. Her eyes slid back over to the 09er table again, to the two empty spaces and the people they signified. "Probably by doing what I don't do best."

"Which is what?"

Which was honesty. Which was communication. Which was facing the pain instead of pushing it away, pushing it back to the far dark corners of her mind.

"I'll deal."

She'd deal with Duncan, but to do that, she knew, meant dealing with Logan, and dealing with Logan meant dealing with Logan, something she knew neither one of them _wanted_ to do at the moment, but something she suspected both of them _needed_ to do.

The lunch bell rang, and Veronica got up. She dumped her tray into the nearest trash can and waited for Wallace to do the same. Then she said, "Thank you."

Wallace shrugged. "It's no big thing."

"No. Uh-huh. Don't 'It's no big thing' me. It isa big thing, Wallace. You know it. I know it. You know that I know it. So don't play this game you're trying to play."

A small smile appeared on Wallace's face. "It's not a game."

"No. It's not."

And it wasn't. It wasn't a game; it was her life. And she needed to get back in it, living it instead of letting it live, instead of sitting on the sidelines, timid and afraid. It was what they wanted, all of them. They wanted her quiet. They wanted her soft. They wanted her afraid to push and push and push until all they could do was push back and reveal the truths they so desperately tried to hide.

The truths she was born to find.

The truths she was going to find.

Tomorrow.

…………

The second message appeared while she traced a trail on her computer.

"I love you, and I'm sorry."

That was all he wrote, but it was enough. For now, at least. More would be said later. Tomorrow, maybe.

_I hope you know that. I love you._

No.

_I love you, and I'm sorry._

No.

More would be said now. Now, not later. Today, not tomorrow.

Veronica hung up and got up and left her room.

It was time to deal.

…………

She stormed into the room, not pausing to knock, not stopping, even for a second, to allow the doubts and fears and hesitations take control. His bedroom was dark, the lights off, the blinds closed. Light from the hall spilled in behind her, illuminating the alcohol soaked interior, and she was taken back to the motel in Mexico, to before, not even a week ago but longer than a lifetime.

Logan sat on the floor like then; one hand perched on a mostly empty liquor bottle like then. She strode over and wrenched it from his hands, ignoring him and his startled cries of protest. Heading for the bathroom, she dumped the liquor, vodka by the sweat soaked looks of the label, down the sink, watching it swirl into the drain, slow and steady. Then she spun around and returned to the room.

"We need to talk."

Logan sat on the floor still, his feet bare, clad in a pair of wrinkled jeans and an old t-shirt. His hair stuck up at odd angles on his head and the beginnings of a beard shaded his face. He squinted up at her, blinked twice, and said, "That was my last bottle."

"Good."

"Good? _Good_? Are you fucking high? I need-"

"You need to shut up, that's what you need to do."

"If-"

"No. Stop. I don't want to hear it."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Something wry maybe. Something snappy. Something about me wanting you to talk and shut up at the same time. Something distracting so you don't have to talk because you don't want to talk. You want to sit in the dark and drink until you forget. Or at least until you can pass out and wake up remembering how much you _don't _care. How am I doing? Am I close?"

"You're off the green. In a sand trap somewhere."

She gritted her teeth and tried her best not to rise to his snippy bait. "I got your message."

Logan stood and turned away from her. He walked over to his chest of drawers, started randomly sifting through the stuff strewn across the top. "And you wanted to drop your Dear, John letter off in person? Always were one for the personal touches, Mars."

And she had lift-off. "What the _hell_ is your problem?"

"My problem? Shit, Veronica, are you serious?" He turned back towards her, and she could see the tears in his eyes, even in the dim light, could hear them in his voice, over and across the space between them. "My problem… Why are you here? You should be filing a fucking restraining order against me right now, not barging into my room wanting to have a little chat."

"Yeah, well, we all make mistakes, don't we, Logan? Don't make me regret this one."

He sat down on his bed, flipped the Zippo he now held in his hands open then shut, open then shut. He snapped a final time, stared down at it, then said, "What do you want to talk about?"

Hesitation slipped past her anger and bravado, and she paused. She drew in a deep breath, then another. In for a penny, in for a pound, Mars. "I want to talk about Duncan."

Logan didn't say anything. He didn't move. His knuckles were white, curved around the lighter. "What about Duncan?"

"He's in Reno. And I don't think he's coming back unless someone goes and gets him."

"And what? You want me to go and bring him back?"

"No. I want us to go and bring him back."

He looked at her then, his gaze sharp through the alcohol haze. She forced herself not to look away, not to squirm or flinch or shift her position under his stare. "You can't be serious," he said.

"I am."

"You can't think this is a good idea."

"I really don't."

"Then why?"

Because she wasn't afraid.

"I have my reasons," she said. Logan raised an eyebrow at that, and she said, "Avenging angel, remember?"

He stared at her a moment then gave a slow nod. "And you're using me in your quest for liberty and justice for all."

"Something like that. Look, Logan, nothing's changed. It's still Duncan. And he's still gone because of us-"

"Because of me."

"He's not running from you."

"He wouldn't be running if-"

"Can we not, just now? Please."

Logan closed his mouth and swallowed. He set the lighter on his nightstand; spread his hands flat on the bedspread. Veronica looked away then forced herself to look back. Forced herself to say, "You said you'd changed. Here's your chance to prove it."

He ran a hand over his neck, up through his messy hair. She saw his eyes flicker over to her then down to the floor. He worked his jaw around then said, "You have a plan?"

"Yeah. I'll pick you up tomorrow at 8, and we'll use the weekend to go to Reno and convince Duncan to come back."

"What about school? Tomorrow's Friday."

"You haven't been there all week, Logan. I doubt you really care about missing one more day."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh." Veronica looked down, looked away. She shrugged one shoulder and said, "I've got it covered." Really, Wallace had it covered; helping her forge a fake doctor's note he would turn in to the office to explain away her absence tomorrow. That still left her dad, who, Veronica knew, would be just as opposed to this little excursion as he was to the last. Most likely more opposed, and more angry when he discovered the truth this time, but Veronica would cross that particular bridge when it came.

"So, um, try to be ready when I get here. And by be ready, I mean be sober."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that with the bottle dumping."

Veronica nodded then stopped. Logan wasn't looking at her. It didn't matter anyway. She turned to go and heard him say, "I meant what I said." He spoke soft, so soft, and she wondered for a moment whether it was just a whisper from the back of her mind. He didn't say anything else, and Veronica didn't ask what. She didn't ask why. She didn't slow; she didn't stop. Her fingernails bit into her arms, and she blinked away the tears that formed in her eyes as she left the room and didn't look back.

She decided that she could start dealing tomorrow.

…………

end

To be continued in "On the Bound," a Logan POV fic.


End file.
